


une poupée

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [48]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, fetishistic attraction if that makes sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: gabriel, lover of all things pretentious and unnecessary in the realm of fashion, likes playing dress up (in the simplest terms) with aziraphale. to say he has ulterior motives would be an understatement
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	une poupée

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot be stopped and i will not be stopped. also watch me only write f/m when its weird and creepy lmao

"arms up." gabriel instructs. 

"will this one have short sleeves? you _know_ how i detest short sleeves." aziraphale groans, giving him a limp stretch to the ceiling, her wrists dangling.

"no complaining. and higher than that, love."

" _uuugh._ they won't go any higher!"

gabriel stares at her. his eyes say it all.

aziraphale groans again, reaching farther. "promise you won't make anyone see me if the sleeves are short. please?"

gabriel fusses with the tie of her robe. letting its silk fall to the ground; aziraphale's modesty falling with it. he shoots a glance to her reflection in the mirror. she hasn't bothered with covering herself up. she stands open, bared, if slightly skittish for it. pink and pale like rosewater cream. his jaw seems to clamp down, tightening its hold on the wild tongue in his mouth. perhaps to keep him from saying anything out of bounds. and perhaps - _perhaps,_ to save her skin the trouble of being tasted.

"of course. anything you want." he mutters. the words slip out like a well-practiced rehearsal. he knows what to say, what's expected of him.

"your hair is so pretty." his fingers thread through it, stroking along the long, loose curls. "it's just like meringue. all fluffy and white."

aziraphale giggles. there's a lightness to the sound that repeats each bat of the wings she keeps hidden. gabriel is so enamored - he has to take stilling breaths in to calm his thrumming pulse. 

"that's the only time you've ever spoken of food with an appreciative tone." she says, still puffing out little half-exhales of laughter.

"and it's well deserved. now, try this dress on."

gabriel tugs it on over her head. pulling her hair back in petal-fine bunches, and letting it drape over her shoulders. the dress is made of a kind satin. with lace trimmings to decor the edges of the puffed up sleeves, and the skirt's hemline. it falls just above her knees. delicately yellow, and flatter than a doll's smile. aziraphale tuts, affronted at the audacity of such a disobedient fabric.

"now, just you wait." gabriel shushes her before she can make another fuss. "we haven't gotten your petticoat on yet. step into it."

she clings onto his shoulder as she moves. it's only for balance, a simple lift and grip, but it makes gabriel's head spin regardless. her skin is so soft, and her mouth looks so sweet. he's doused her in mild makeup today. it's all relatively subtle, excluding the dark red shading her lips. looking at her now, gabriel can understand why humans are so fiercely protective of what they own. with a trembling thumb, he aches to smear that red across her cheek. to feel flesh meld against his own. and to kiss - to _kiss._ he wants to kiss her more than he'd want to be forgiven for the crime.

heaven help him, but he's utterly lost for her.

"see," he says, fluffing her skirts out. "it's all lovely now. so very lovely."

and gabriel knows, even as she doesn't bother with meeting his gaze, that he's not talking about the dress. not with her right there. not while he's watching.

"alright," he starts up, fumbling with the jumbled mass of clothes behind him. "onto the next course."


End file.
